Abattoir Blues 2: The Killing Moon
by LongSnakeMoan
Summary: Picking up where chapter one left off, Jane Lane hits the dirty, seedy underbelly of the city as the newest killer for hire. As with Anthony's help she negotiates her way through the maze of dangerous drug dealers, gangs and hitmen, she meets a new friend with a life a thousand miles away from hers and wonders how deep is too deep?
1. Chapter 1

It's been four months since I sent a man to hell, at least I hope if there's a hell he ended up there for all he did. Anthony gave me a crash course in disposing of bodies, showing me the helpful scrap metal dealers round the city who for a small fee would crush any car no questions asked as to why there was blood on the seats or what was in the trunk. For a few days I sorta disassociated myself from what happened. The first night after my first hit I got stupidly drunk on this strong Belgian beer and ended up being carried to bed by Anthony after I tried to defrost frozen pizza and nearly burnt the house down. For about a week or so I was on some sort of high, laughing and joking with Al in his bar about 'joining the business' and then nearly falling off my chair as this big guy called Paulie brought ten grand round to the house in a case like they do in the movies and trying to sit still as Anthony patiently counted out the notes to make sure we weren't being taken for fools. Ten grand. I felt like Donald Trump with all that cash. The nearest I ever got to that before was when I was working the streets and some big blonde Texan guy hired me for the night and told me the following morning I was, and I quote, 'the greatest fuck of his life' and handed me four hundred. So yeah, I was on a high, I stashed money around the house and other little hidey holes Anthony showed me, I thought I would never come down. Then the nightmares started.

For weeks afterwards it haunted my dreams, horribly detailed nightmares of me walking into the house to find MacDonald waiting for me, gun pointed at my heart and Anthony dead at his feet, blood spilling from him and then spilling from me as I was shot, filling the room until I was choking and gasping until I drowned in it. I'd wake up, sweat pouring off me and the sheets damp, unable to breathe until I'd run to Anthony's room to make sure he was still there. The first few times I frightened the crap outta him as I banged the door open and to be honest I'm not sure how I'm still standing. I know he keeps a weapon for protection and how he didn't shoot me there and then is a mystery. He just walked me back to bed and for a while slept on the floor next to me, staying with me, getting me through the bad times. When the nightmares stopped I plucked up the courage to take on another job, then another. This one in fact, but this is my first one without Anthony backing me up. The last guy was kinda like Glenwood way back when, some guy who should have made sure he could pay back his debt with the Mafia before he took out the loan.

This one though is different, not for Al but an 'acquaintance' of his, some drug producer guy who goes by the name of Dark Green. Not the name his parents gave him I guess, unless they were anything like mine. Summer? Wind? Penny doesn't sound so bad until you factor in her surname is Lane. Penny Lane. This is what happens when hippies procreate. According to my mother I was due to be called Echo Spring until my Dad decided my name should rhyme and then I was going to be Rain Lane until the wonderful registrar suggested Jane. Not that it makes much difference. I could be Echo Spring Lane and I still would be sat in the 'office' of a drug dealer, actually the spare room of some guy's apartment. The walls are covered in years old magic eye posters that I've never been able to do and it stinks of weed, which figures as drug casualties from across the city are congregated in the kitchen, living room, bedrooms. I don't even wanna think what's going on in there. Some tripped out techno music booms out from another room and gets even louder as the door opens, the bass makes my ears hurt. God, I'd hate to be this guy's neighbour. A rail thin middle aged guy meanders into the room and makes his way over to me. He kinda looks like what I would imagine Trent to be in twenty years, dressed in creased linen pants and a mint green shirt that exposes his bony, scarred chest, his long red hair tied back and swinging down his back. He sits on the dirtiest, most worn out office chair I've ever seen, lights up a joint and offers me a drag. I shake my head and he shrugs slowly.

"S'your call. So, according to Al you're the new guy on the scene. You're very young ain't you? Jeez, you look like you should still be turning in assignments."

"I just turned nineteen. Um, I guess I should introduce myself huh? I'm Jane, um, I've done a coupla jobs for Al and I'm just looking for work. Maybe he told you all that. He didn't say much, just said you're Dark Green and that you're looking for an unknown."

"He did and I am. Listen, I don't have a lot of time so I'll lay it straight. I've been cutting heroin for twenty three years and my clients know what they're getting from me, mainly they'll be high for days on good stuff. Everybody knows - from the other dealers to the users that this little corner of this lousy city is my corner. I supply the suburbanites, the high functioners, the Long Island guys who want to get high at the weekend and think they're in the Velvet fucking Underground. Everyone in this apartment apart from me and you are trust fund kids, their Daddies pay for my vacations to Mexico."

He pronounced it Meh-hee-ko like he could speak Spanish or something. He breaks off to take a deep drag of his joint and I tap my fingers nervously on the arm of my chair. I haven't been around this much drugs since spending a couple of nights in Rosie's motel room that time and my head is starting to get woozy. Dark Green slides a picture and an address scribbled on the back of an envelope towards me, some place across town I think, but I'm not sure. I'll have to ask Anthony. I better start getting to know my way around but I've been here nearly a year now and I'm still surprised and how much I don't know about this place. The mark can't be much older than me, I'd guess mid twenties at the most, and he looks like your average run of the mill geek. In fact he looks kinda like that guy I went to high school with, what was his name? I called him Upchuck but I can't remember his real name right now. Then again with the amount of pot smoke in the room I can barely remember my own. Dark Green grinds out his joint straight on the desk and looks at me right in the eye, his expression unreadable. I sit up straight as a reaction and he chuckles.

"Relax kid, I don't bite. This guy, he calls himself Detlef after a smack addict from Christiane F, you ever see that movie? You should. Anyway Detlef has started cuttin' in on my turf, supplying my customers with H and he's bringing meth into the mix. Now my sources tell me his H isn't up to much and he's hoping to make it big on the meth but he's still getting in on my act and nobody does that, especially not some twenty four year old from fucking Montana for Chrissakes. He's new so he doesn't have a permanent address, he moves his little meth lab round town to avoid the cops and my guys. He knows my guys by now, he knows who to hide from. He's small time himself, his operation is just him really right now and I intend to keep it just him, then not even him."

"But he doesn't know me."

"No, he doesn't. He wouldn't suspect you either, nineteen year old girl, who would? You look too clean to be an addict and no offence but I can tell you don't live off Mommy and Daddy dime either so that's out."

"There's always college students looking for a good time. Always someone who hasta outdo somebody else. I guess at a party there's always a guest who thinks 'hey, let's buy some heroin and liven this joint up."

He grins at me, huge creases under his eyes and his yellowed teeth are cracked and broken. He may be selling to the high rollers but he clearly isn't one himself. His low laugh turns into a harsh cough and again I think about Trent, he used to do that. I wonder how he's doing, where he is. I sometimes think I should call home, just to see if the Lane family still has a residency in Lawndale or if the bank has finally managed to repossess it. But it passes because how the hell do I explain my life now to Trent or anyone really. 'Hey Mom, I'm in New York. I spent a few months whoring my ass out on street corners and now I kill people for money. So how was Africa?' Not fucking likely. Dark Green starts to roll another joint and puts his feet up on the desk. His shoes were probably once white but now they're this weird mixture of black, grey and brown, really weird. Why do I notice shit like this?

"Listen Jane, you have tonight and tomorrow for this…."

"What? Two nights? Are you kidding me?"

"No. Like I said Detlef has a rolling lab. He moves on quick and doesn't stay in one place too long. If you leave it any longer he'll move on and he's a hard man to find once he's on the move. It has to be tonight or tomorrow. It's up to you but just remember the more jobs you do the more jobs you get."

I watch as his nimble fingers roll the paper and I mull it all over. Anthony warned me some jobs are quick and you have to walk out of a place, make a plan and whack someone in the matter of a day. Hours sometimes. I know this is all part of the job, it's not all staking a place out and meticulous planning, sometimes you just gotta roll. Still though, two nights. I glance at the clock on my cell and notice it's already three thirty. Times a ticking. I rub my hand along the exposed skin at my chest and press my fingers in deep. What would Anthony do? If it was him in this situation what would he do? Turn it down? Negotiate for more time? Oh who am I kidding, he'd have been out the door on his way fifteen minutes ago. He'd also get a good price too. I watch as the little numbers turn from 3.33 to 3.34 and make my choice. Dear God, will this ever get easier?

"Okay. I'll do it. You want the body gone afterwards too? That'll cost extra."

"How much are we talking?"

How much do I dare to go in? Screw it; I've always liked the number fifteen.

"Fifteen grand, that includes me getting rid of the guy too."

"Jane, I know you got ten for your last two jobs. You'll get ten for this."

"Yeah, well I had time to prepare and was given information on those jobs. All you've given me is a photo and an address and two days to do it. The stakes are higher here. The cops could bust my ass at any moment or I could get a needle full of H in the neck and end up round here with the rest of these hopeless junkies. Fourteen."

"Eleven."

"Thirteen"

"Twelve and a half."

"Done."

"Call me when you're through and I'll get the cash to you. Is cash okay or do you want payment in kind. Jewels? Gold or I could give you fifteen worth of the best high in New York?"

"Cash is fine."

I smile at his sarcastic tone, at the streak of sardonic humour that runs through the dippy hippy vibe he gives off and he flashes those cracked teeth again. If he wasn't a drug dealer I could get on well this guy. Then again I know dealers; you don't get to his age without pulling off some cold, ruthless shit. Dark Green nods his head towards the door and I know I can go, I'm dismissed. I hold my hand out and he grimaces and waves it away.

"I don't go in for all that corporate shit. You should know that Jane, I bet your folks didn't either."

I turn and look at him, my hand rests on the door, and he smirks at me.

"I can tell a hippy kid anywhere. You scream 'commune child.'"

"Gee thanks."

"Hey, you'll do okay. Just remember, go in quick and get out quicker. Say you're Christiane. He'll like that."

I smile weakly and leave the room and go back into the smoke filled haze of the living room, as the techno still pumps from the speakers. I look at the druggies properly for the first time and I can tell they're not like Rosie. They're high and they know they've got money on the wall, they're not Rosie falling apart at the seams. They're not even me. On one couch a girl with long blonde hair and designer clothes stretches out, her fingers and wrists heavy with platinum and gold as she drawls into an expensive cell.

"Oh yeah, well we totally need to go to Thailand this year. I mean Goa is nice enough but I'm bored of it now and I'm totally over South America. Daddy says if I do ten weeks at Betty Ford then he'll pay for Thailand and what's ten weeks really? I know."

I roll my eyes as she prattles on and gratefully leave the apartment, desperate to clear my head from the smoke and the noise. I am really happy I decided to take the subway, after that I'm in no fit state to drive, and let myself be carried along in the crowds. I hop on and off trains as I make my way home and I watch as people pass and I wonder what they're doing and where they're going? All these regular johns just going about their daily business, from home to work and back again. Are they married? Do they have kids? Are they happy? I wonder if they can tell what I am, what I've just done, what I'm gonna do. I can see why this place has inspired so much music and poetry and art. Everything is so alive. So many people and infinite possibilities, countless untold stories from across every culture, religion and race.

I reach my stop and jump off and go with rush again. I never used to rush anywhere, in Lawndale I never had any reason to go anywhere fast, but here you kind of have to go with the flow. I'm also kinda in a rush too. I need to speak to Anthony, this is still only my third time, and I like to feel his closeness. Dear God that sounds filthy. By the time I finally make it into the house I feel like I can breathe again, my heart rate slows to normal, this house relaxes me in a way not even exposure to a shit load of drugs can. The sound of Leonard Cohen floats through the house and I watch as Anthony hovers over his beloved book case. I can't help but smile as he sings along to Suzanne in between tuts about his books being out of order. I creep up behind him as he warbles away and place my hands lightly on his waist and squeeze lightly. He stiffens for a second and looks down on me as I peek up at him, one eyebrow raised at me, an amused look on his face.

"Gotcha."

"Not likely sweetheart. I heard the door click as you came in."

"No way. If you'd have heard me then you woulda stopped singing. And before you start I haven't touched your bookcase so keep your moaning to yourself."

"I was going to. So, how did it go with the elusive Dark Green? I can't say I've ever had the pleasure of meeting him. I have heard of him though. Supplies all the rich junkies I've been told."

"Pretty much. One girl had more jewellery on her than Tiffany's. He wants me to get rid of a rival drug dealer, some skinny guy who's gonna flood the city with meth apparently. He moves around, takes his little rolling lab round town and sells it to Christ knows who trying to avoid Dark Green's guys. That's where I come in. He doesn't know me, I could be anyone. I'm thinking of going in with the college students 'Girls Gone Wild' vibe. You know get the party started with some H or meth or whatever people with more money than sense do. You know where this is?"

I hand over the paper with the address that this 'Detlef' has set up shop. Anthony scans the paper and smirks at the picture of the guy. He's seen it all, hell this guy survived New York in the seventies, the look on his face practically yells 'Good God, this is what classes as a dealer today? This skinny shit who looks like he's fallen out the nearest comic book store. What has become of this city?' He passes them back over to me and leans back against the bookcase as he lights up two cigarettes and passes one to me as he sketches out a quick map for me to follow. He has wonderful hands, all olive skinned and long thin fingers. On his middle finger of his left hand there's a thin gold band that looks like a wedding ring on the wrong finger. I've always wanted to ask why, I want to ask him a lot of things but I can never pluck up the courage. He hands me the little map and I put it in the back pocket of my jeans as I inhale deeply on the cigarette and try to blow smoke rings in the air. I see his gaze linger on my throat, that strange look on his face and I lose my train of thought. So many things I want to ask him, maybe I just should. He shakes his head and rubs the bridge between his nose and the moment is lost.

"It's pretty busy round there Jane; I'd use a knife if I were you. Even with a suppressor a gun would attract attention. How long have you got for this?"

"Tonight or tomorrow."

His eyebrows go high and I notice how much better he looks since spring. Since I've been blooded for the want of a better of a word and the nightmares have stopped he's started sleeping better and he seems to have made his peace with Lewis' ghost. He still hasn't said much though we took a trip to his grave and as he laid some beautiful roses he leant against my shoulder and cried. I would have done anything to stop his tears and I didn't know what to do, I just held him. We haven't spoken about it, I tried but he just smiled and walked away. I'm gonna do it tonight I decide quickly. Why wait? We smoke in silence and I drag slowly, anything to delay the inevitable.

"I'm gonna have to get off soon, I figure why wait around because time is money as they say and I gotta get used this. Not every employer is gonna give me the luxury of days to prepare are they?"

"You sure? That's not a lot of time sweetheart. You can do it tomorrow, give it a night at least."

"Yeah, I mean I have to get used to this. Maybe if I don't have time to think it'll be better you know. I need it to get easier, I mean I know it will because well I got used to being on the street quick enough so this has gotta be the same. It does get easier, right?"

Anthony looks over at me and grinds his cigarette out in the pretty glass ashtray and I wince. The thing is almost a work of art and I feel guilty every time we ruin the surface just a little more. I can see the concern and the guilt in his eyes. I wish he wouldn't torment himself like this. The man has enough issues of his own without adding mine to them too. I tangle my fingers in my hair and roughly pull the knots out and wince as I feel strands come away in my fingers before they fall to the ground.

"It does. It takes time but it does. And if you find it doesn't you don't have to do it anymore. Just let me know. You want me to come with you?"

If that ever happens he will never know. I've come this far, I'm not giving up now. I take the car keys from the side and dare him to say no. His eyes meet mine and I listen to the low hum of traffic outside, the distant whir of the always appreciated air con and the steady pace of our breathing. Sweat prickles under my arms in the heavy summer heat and the sense of foreboding. I have to go on my own; I can't have Anthony hold my hand forever. I shake my head and force a smile on my smile. Oh God, I'm gonna do this alone. He exhales in resignation before a grin flashes across his face at my determination and he opens the drawer in the antique dresser. A flash of dull steel catches the bright summer light and he hands me a slim flip knife and I supress a shudder. It looks so delicate and yet I know how much damage something like that could do in hands like his. Like mine.

"Take this Jane. It's easy enough to hide and nobody would suspect you of carrying it. Get him alone and roll those eyes of yours at him. He won't ever see you coming. I know. I have the bruises from training to prove it. Good luck sweetheart. You need me just call."

I take the knife from him and stand on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek lightly. Who knows, I might not be coming back if this all goes horribly wrong. He looks like he's gonna say something but thinks better of it and nods towards the kitchen.

"Come on. Help me make dinner. I'll make a cook outta you yet."

Despite his best instructions from his little map I still get lost and I drive around the same fucking six streets over and over again before I manage to make the right turn. The windows are down and as I sing along to Come As You Are I'm taken back to Lawndale for a few minutes, listening to Trent trying and failing to master the opening chords. Maybe if he'd laid off the Mary Jane for a while he might have had a chance. A cop car rolls past mine and I shrink a little lower in my seat. A lot of cops in this city know me and there's only one way they saw me in cars before. If they see me driving this on my own and they know me my ass will be hauled in for grand theft auto on principle. As the song finishes it hits me that I've not felt anywhere near as much tension than the previous two times, and so of course that brings on something like a huge panic attack as the air seems to seep slowly from the car. I'm gonna have to distract myself in future, keep my mind off the job. Learn to switch off like I did last time. It's only sex for money, lots of people do it. It's only murder for money, lots of people do it. By the time I reach the street the skin on my shoulder blades is stuck to the leather seat and I wince as I roughly pull myself away, my hand brushes the handle of the knife that's wrapped tightly in my shirt. I push the blade down and shove it into the pocket of my jeans and wrap the shirt around my waist so that the pocket is well hidden before I take a final look in the mirror. My cool sunglasses are pushed on and some cheap dollar bangles jingle on my wrist as I nervously mess my hair up. I look like a college student. Maybe in another universe I am but in this one I got a job to do and force myself out the car with every particle of willpower I possess.

The address is down a tiny side street off a reasonably deserted main steet and I walk along the darkened dusty ground, the warm late evening sun blocked by the high rise of the buildings either side as I check the place out for witnesses. Nobody takes a bit of notice, in this city you could fall down dead in the street and they'd step over your body to get to where they had to go. I come to a stop outside a beat up old door and give it a little push and I'm a little put out to find it locked. Can't they give a girl a break? I knock as loudly as I dare and wait for what seems like an age, constantly keeping a look out and my foot taps nervously as I wait for a response. Chill Jane, don't blow it. A high, reedy voice almost whistles through the door and I step back slightly in shock.

"Who is it?"

Shit shit shit. What was that fucking name I was supposed to say? Think Jane think. I cast my mind back to this afternoon and rack my brains in panic as I try to remember that stupid name that Dark Green told me to say. Christine, Christina. Oh fuck fuck fuck, stupid pot smoking assholes making me dizzy when I was there. Christina, Christy Anna. Oh wait, I know.

"Christiane. I'm Christiane. I'm here to see Det….lef?"

I guess I must have passed because the door swings open and the shadows I see my guy. He's very tall, taller than Anthony and he's well over six foot, and the guy is really thin. He steps to one side and politely lets me pass and the smell of chemicals or something hits me so hard I almost reel. I swallow down an instinctive huge gulp of spit that has risen from nowhere in my throat and follow him down a narrow hallway into his makeshift lab. All sorts of crap bubbles in beakers around me and I carefully keep out the way of everything as my hand rests lightly over my jeans pocket. Detlef turns to face me and he really does look like he's wandered out of the nearest comic book store. Underneath his little plastic apron body suit thingy he's wearing some faded ripped jeans and a Batman t shirt that's seen better days and he wears some round glasses that makes his eyes looks huge. He motions at me to sit down on some rickety chair and I shake my head.

"Nah, I'll be back in class soon and on my ass all day. Might as well make the most of standing up."

"Where do you go to school?"

"Oh. I do uh Art at NYU but I've been staying in the city over summer. My folks aren't at home so why move back to an empty house in the burbs when I can live here?"

"I sell a lot of stuff to art students. You guys can party hard."

"That we can. Kinda why I'm here actually. We're finding that our nights out don't really have the same bang that they used to. I don't know if we're used to our usual party drugs but coke and X are just dull and they don't stimulate the brain in the way we'd like.  
Everything's a blur and we want something that'll expand our creativity, something that'll fuel our art and allow us to access areas of our creative subconscious. I heard that meth really brings out that lost creativity, but then again I don't wanna end up some junkie in an alley so I asked around and was told you sold good shit. You know what I'm saying?"

I have no idea what I'm saying and even less idea about what part of my creative subconscious is coming up with this bullshit but he seems to buy it. I suppose one pretentious drug addict is much like another. He shuffles slowly towards the back of the room near to some sorta sealed off space, I guess something's cooking, and I grab hold of the knife handle and he starts to make up a bag of little white crystals. I figure I should ask if he's expecting company. I really don't wanna go against some heavies because it would be bye bye Jane.

"You alone? I always thought you guys would be surrounded by like guys with guns and stuff."

"Oh, not yet. To be honest I'm trying to keep this quiet for the time being so a lot of people would attract too much attention. Maybe one day though. There's not really much call for meth in this city yet, not like my home town. The only people who ask for it  
here are you art kids and guys on the gay party scene. Something to do with sex on meth being really good."

"I'll keep that in mind. So uh, how much is that and will it be enough for three of us? We're going to give it a go tonight. You know a  
little smoke and a movie. See how things go."

He looks up at me, a shy grin on his face and I smile back as he shifts in his seat before he walks over towards me, the little bags swinging in his hand and the bangles jingle on mine as I make it look like I'm pulling out some cash. I move up closer and the blade silently flicks up as I pull it out of my pocket under my shirt. The knife moves so quick neither of us are even aware of it and I sink it into somewhere around his heart as I push upwards. His eyes go wide with shock and horror as I move out the way quickly before he covers me in blood and then I plunge the knife in his chest over and over again. I dodge his blood as best I can because being me I didn't even think to bring a change of clothes or apron or something. I stab and I stab and I stab willing the bastard to die until he falls to the floor in a twitching heap and gradually goes still. I step back in a daze and my eyes widen and heart races at the sight of so much blood. The flip knife is dripping, wet and slick with deep crimson liquid that falls around me in thick heavy drops. The dead guy's eyes have rolled back into his head and I can see the whites of his eyes. I pull my phone out from my other pocket and call Dark Green, my mind strangely blank. It's almost as if I'm outside my own body and this is a movie I'm watching and at any moment Anthony's gonna walk in with popcorn. At once this hit feels more real than the other two and yet feels more distant than those at the same time. Maybe it's because I used a knife that it feels so much more personal than a gun. I've crossed a line I think. This is a very intimate way to kill someone and once you've got that close to someone there's no going back. I don't know but I feel, well not much. There's no wheezing, no vomit, no urge to run and never stop. Just wonder at all this blood.

"Hello."

"Hey, it's Jane. Job's done. Just wondering how to get rid of the debris."

I hear him exhale and I know that he's taken a drag on something.

"Strike a match and see how it goes."

"Are you insane? This is a meth lab. Shit here explodes."

"Exactly. I'll speak to you soon."

He hangs up and I stare at my phone in appalled silence before I cast another glance around the room. Detlef starts to turn a papery white as the blood seeps from him in an unstoppable flow and I catch sight of a lighter on a standalone little table away from all the chemicals. For a moment I feel totally in over my head and I could scream in frustration. I have so much to learn and I feel so useless, that awful worthless feeling rushes over me again. Well, I'm still a novice and I'm learning from the best so I make the one call I need. The phone seems to ring for an eternity and I bite hard on my lip as I wait to hear that deep, reassuring voice and I could cry out when I finally hear it.

"Jane. What's up sweetheart?"

"Anthony. What's the best way to safely blow up a meth lab?"

I hear a shocked laugh on the other end and despite my own confusion I feel myself smile. I bet even Lewis didn't give him training issues like this and he must be able to read my mind.

"I've never known a person like you."

"Good, then it's a new experience for us both. Are you gonna help?"

"I'm on my way."

The phone goes silent and I look at all the bubbling beakers with disinterest before I stare down at the scarred, stained floor, especially the deep black line burned deep into the wood that runs the full length of the room. I walk along it for a few steps before I step over from one side to another. The line has been crossed and I cannot go back. In this moment I don't want to. I never want to go back.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I wanted to do a little flashback chapter every so often, to show a glimpse into Jane and Anthony's lives. This is one for Jane, featuring Rosie from the previous chapter. **

**Abattoir Blues: Jane and Rosie at the Point. **

I sit on what could be possibly the dirtiest door step in New York, the grit from the dirt digs into my thighs and I stretch my legs into the last of the sunlight as Rosie passes me a cigarette. That weird brown lipstick she wears covers the butt along with a shit ton of spit so I shake my head and click the heels of my boots together. There's no place like home. Except this definitely isn't Kansas, I wear knee high heeled boots not ruby red slippers and I don't think Dorothy spends the evening counting how many guys she's gonna have to lay before she can get some sleep. I need enough for a hotel room; I can't take another night at Rosie's with the smell of crack drifting from under the gap in the door no matter how much stuff I try and block it with. It was nice of her to let me stay though, shows me the ropes. I met her one of the first nights I was here, after I'd just finished with by then the sixth john of the night and she asked how long I'd been working and what the hell was I charging these assholes.

"_Twenty five for everything?"_

_"I dunno, I didn't know what to charge. Oh shit, am I ripping them off?"_

_"No sweetie, you're the one being ripped off. Twenty five is giving it away. It'll be gone half way round here that the new ho charges diddly shit for everything. No wonder they keep going to you. You'll be walking like John Wayne tomorrow if this keeps up."_

After that we sorta became friends and she's let me tag along after her these past few days, so now I know where to make money, which kinda guys want what, the best place to buy drugs and most importantly to trust my gut. Some guy came over the other night and the moment he wound down the window I knew there was something wrong with him. Every instinct I had screamed this guy was bad news, but I still woulda got in until Rosie told him that we weren't interested. The shit he called us as he drove off was awful, 'you scummy, dirty whores' was the nicest insult, but I'll take that over being found cut up somewhere. Rosie's calm today, in a good mood, mainly because she hits the pipe before we went to work and while I made my excuses to go to the store. She offers me crack every day and each time I turn her down. As much as it shames me to think about it I don't wanna end up like her, still whoring my ass out in ten years time, with a row full of missing teeth and body covered in scars. That's if I don't wind up dead in the meantime. She's only thirty two and yet there's grey within the blonde and wrinkles starting to form round her eyes, relics of a hard lived life. It scares me to wonder how much of this I can take before I decide to think 'fuck it' and hit the pipe. Rosie flicks the cigarette onto the filthy pavement and grinds it in deep, ash mixes with the dirt from trucks and abandoned scraps of food and condom wrappers. Her eyes take in the street and we watch as a woman in a red lycra mini dress furtively looks round before she leans into speak to someone in a stationary car for a while as they make a deal. I glance across to Rosie and as the woman hops in and the car drives away, a look of regret and sadness I guess settles on her face.

"That's what it's come too."

"Huh."

"That then. That's where it's at now. Hanging around in the shadows, always on the look out for the police, hiding what we're doing from the world. You're here too late Jane. Ten years ago, hell even five years ago, you wouldn't believe the easy money you could make here. Back when I started out like you, I was making hundreds a night and making it easy. Weeknights round here was like Walmart on a Saturday, there was that many cars cruising, rubbernecking as we walked the stroll wearing next to nothing, right there on display. Friday and Saturday was like Walmart on Black Friday, every car and every alley and every hallway, there was a ho and a john doing business like it was no big deal. Police didn't give a shit; they might arrest someone who was causing shit or robbing or being a dumb fuck in the middle of the street, but mostly they were buying it too. I had a steady that was a cop, as well as a coupla regulars, they bought pussy too. Game's changed now though, it's harder."

"Has it ever been easy? I hate it. Please don't take that the wrong way, I'm happy you've let me crash at your place and kept me from getting totally lost out here. But, I hate it. I hate the johns and the way that they think I'll do anything just because they wave a few dollars at me. I hate that I have to smile and moan and make little sex noises when some fat, sweaty old man is on top of me or when some young asshole rams into me from behind and don't give a shit if they hurt me. It's hard, too hard."

"Well, course it's hard if you go out sober and are getting paid shit to do it too. I can tell you hate it, the look you have when I see you get out the cars tells me you'd open your wrists if you thought it would get you outta here. When I first started though, I loved it. Money, drugs, clothes, being wanted for once. I've been out here for eighteen years, I've seen it all."

My mind does the numbers as she hocks up onto the ground. Rosie's thirty two, and she's been doing this eighteen years, so it woulda made her….holy fuck.

"_Fourteen? _You've been hoeing since you were fourteen? That's not right. Did your parents not have anything to say about it?"

She snorts and rolls her eyes at me, the grey in her hair catches the light.

"They gave even less of a shit than yours did. And it was different back then, people weren't all on that kinda thing then with teenagers out on the streets. I was young, beautiful and I felt like a movie star. It was an adventure for me, being so young and out of my parent's fucking house and having all these guys come up to me giving me money. And this is in the eighties too, you know, back when the Point was the place for girls, nothing like now. I know it ain't right but what's done is done and without the drugs I'd feel dirty and nasty too. But I get through the day as best I can and I don't think about it. I know it's destroying me, killing me every day but there's still no other job that'll pay like this."

"I guess, I mean this pays way more than waitressing it's just…. Rosie, I'm scared. I frightened every time I get into a car, every man I meet in a hotel room. You've told me some stories of what's happened to your friends, I've seen them take away some poor dead whore they've found on the street. I'm scared that if I go on a date with a john and I go missing nobody will ever know. That they'll hurt me so bad just because they can and I know nobody will give a damn, the cops don't give a shit about us, we're a coupla steps above subhuman to them and everyone else thinks we deserve whatever we get. Not just that, that they'll hurt me when we're going at it, or that I'll be raped and knowing that I can never report it. People can do anything to us and nobody cares. I can deal with the self-loathing, the feeling nasty, that soul destroying feeling after a shift knowing I will never be able to live them again do things differently. But the fear is killing me, Rosie. I'm dying out here because I know I can't run and I can't fight. I'm scared; I know I gotta get tough because this is my life now. I just don't know how."

She hands me her pack of cigarettes and a lighter and I notice my hands tremble as I light up. I inhale deeply and I feel the frustration surge as the usual calming effect from a smoke fails to sooth me. My vision blurs as my eyes water and I shut my eyes and bite my lip as I swallow down the sobs that threaten to escape. I lean down and put my head between my legs, angry at myself for this shame and weakness being on display and open for all to see. I feel Rosie put her arm around me and pull me towards her and I choke out a solitary sob, a mix of sadness, fear, frustration and affection for Rosie. This one small gesture gives me the most comfort I've had from anyone in years and push the cigarette between my lips and take another deep drag to steady myself before I open my eyes, the grey swirl becomes dirt again as the tears slowly vanish. I lift myself back up and face the world again and Rosie takes her arm from around me and grins, the gaps in her teeth briefly visible. I shake my hair out and carefully wipe under my eyes so my eye makeup stays in place. I take a deep breath and tilt my head back from side to side.

"Do I look okay? I'm not sitting here with panda eyes, or red eye, or anything like that am I?"

"You look fine, very pretty still."

"Listen, I'm sorry about that then, I just figured I gotta let it all out speak to someone who knows. I'm sorry. Thank you."

"It's fine. We've all been there. You'll find your way Jane, I know you will."

Rosie smiles and there's sadness within it. She's a survivor, seen it all, done it all and she's still standing. Maybe she sees another survivor in me, or maybe she's seen girls like us come and go and that's the way out that I'll find. I don't wanna know. I'll just take it by the day and work it out somehow. What else can I do? I shrug and stand up as I wipe the grit from the backs of my thighs as dusk falls and the cars start to arrive. Maybe it's not like Walmart anymore but beggars can't be choosers and hopefully one day I'll get outta here. We take up our positions on the street and I see johns eyeball me from within their cars as a rush of nausea is hidden by a sultry smile. After a couple of minutes a dark blue car pulls up in front of me, long yellow lights dance in the dusk as further up the street Rosie negotiates with her first guy of the night. The window of the car slides down and my smile gets sultrier as I lean into the open window and clock the john. Forties, dressed in a suit with no tie, clean shaven, wedding ring, don't they all have wedding rings. He doesn't creep me out though, I don't get bad vibes from him, and that's all I have to go on. He leers at my exposed stomach and the view down my low cut top that he gets and I get ready for my nightly routine that I will wish away until I see the flickers on the morning light. Same shit, different day.

"Hey baby, you going out?"

"Yeah, I'm going out. How much to go out with you, gorgeous girl?"

First of the night and I will end up on my back or on my knees, just like the rest will be and like they've been every time before. Like I said, same shit, different day.


End file.
